Sleep Soundly, My Love
by x Inkbrush x
Summary: Laslow suffers from nightmares. Xander isn't having it. [Xander/ Laslow]


**Title:** Sleep Soundly, My Love

**Rating:** T

**Summary:** Laslow suffers from nightmares. Xander isn't having it.

**Pairings:** Xander/ Laslow

**Tags: **Hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, literal sleeping together, protective Xander

* * *

"No! Stop! Please!"

The anguished cries halted Xander in his steps. He turned to the door he was walking past on the way to his chambers. On the other side was Laslow's room. Fear spiked. Laslow was in danger. Xander pushed open the door, mind overrun with visions of what he might find. The room beyond was dark and quiet. No assassins, no monsters. A bed stood across from him. The moonlight streaming through the window illuminated Laslow's fine silver hair splayed across the pillow. Xander let out a breath.

Laslow cried out again, "Go away!"

Xander tensed, thinking Laslow was speaking to him. But Laslow just thrashed in his sleep. A keening cry escaped him, driving Xander forward. Now Xander could see him, curled in a ball. Laslow's forehead gleamed with sweat, despite the cool breeze fluttering the curtains.

"I'm so sorry," sobbed Laslow, asleep, "I don't want to leave."

It pained Xander to see him like this. His retainer was always calm and collected, breaking his facade only to flash that insurmountable grin with a gleam in his eye that meant he was about to flirt with someone. Xander wished he wouldn't. The thought of another on the receiving end of Laslow's attentions made him feel strange. Which was ridiculous, of course. Laslow wasn't his, and he never would be. He could play the coquet with whomever he wished, and (unless it interfered with his duties) Xander had no right to stop him. But this was so much worse. The sight of Laslow's face twisted in pain was too much to bear.

"Laslow."

Laslow curled tighter. "No! Mother, no!"

Seized with desperation, Xander reached forward and laid a hand on Laslow's shoulder. "Wake up."

Laslow's eyes shot open, and Xander realised Laslow was waking to a towering dark figure. He went to move away, say something. Before he had the chance, Laslow threw himself backward, yelling with nightmare-clouded eyes, "Go away! Don't touch me!" Laslow lunged for the sheathed knife by the bed, but pulled up short as Xander grabbed his shoulder, fingers bunching in the shirt's smooth fabric. No amount of training could prepare Xander for the sight of Laslow's wide grey eyes transfixed on him, body locked in horror.

"Laslow! It's me. You were dreaming."

Laslow blinked, eyes clearing, pupils widening to let in more light. "Milord? You're... I'm... You're in my room." Laslow's eyes cut to the hand at his shoulder.

Xander hastened to release him and step back. "You were suffering a nightmare. Are you well?"

Laslow shifted and looked away. "Ah, yes. I'm fine, Milord. Really."

Xander narrowed his eyes. "Do these dreams occur often?"

"It's nothing to worry about."

"How long has this been happening?" Xander could feel himself frowning. Laslow had been suffering in silence for who knows how long. He needed to know what was happening and why. He had to fix it.

"It's really not something you need to concern yourself with, Milord."

Xander was about to protest again, to demand, because Laslow was being Laslow. Stubborn and shy, pride unwilling to let anyone help him, ever. Infuriating. But another part of Xander held him back, saying he should back off, respect Laslow's privacy, even if it meant this would happen again. Xander felt his teeth clench.

"Very well," said Xander, "Then I shall leave—"

As he turned to leave, quickly before he said something foolish. Blankets rustled and Laslow said, "Wait. Please."

Xander looked back.

Laslow tipped his silver head forward. "I mean… it's fine. Forget I said anything."

A frown, then a nod. Xander reached the door and glanced back at Laslow. He looked small, with an arm curved around a pillow, eyes wide open. The door clicked closed, and Xander leant his head back against it, closed his eyes, and sighed.

-0-

It had been two days since Xander had found him curled up in a cold sweat. Laslow refused to acknowledge it had happened, even to himself, and Xander hadn't brought it up. Every time the thought crossed Laslow's mind, he pushed it down into the pit with all the other things he'd rather forget. It seemed to work well. He wanted desperately to avoid a repeat of that night, of the prince's eyes boring into him, seeing all the way through. His strategy seemed to work well. Good news, he'd had no more nightmares. Though that may have been because his strategy was to refuse to sleep for more than a half hour at a time. Dark circles were forming beneath his eyes, but he refused to acknowledge them too. He couldn't miss the worried looks Xander kept shooting him when he had to squint away his blurred vision. Xander was scratching a quill against a scroll at his desk. Another glance at Laslow and he was putting the quill down hard.

"Laslow, enough."

Laslow jolted, only now realising his eyes were drifting shut. "Milord?" He could feel a yawn building in his chest, and he tried desperately to stifle it, bringing a surreptitious hand to his mouth and turning away a little.

Xander rose from the chair with a scrape of wood. "You've not been sleeping."

Shit. Busted. Laslow's foggy brain grasped for a solution. Lie? Not advisable. Brush it off? Well, his brain wasn't supplying any better options. "It's really fi—"

"No."

"Pardon?"

"It is not fine. You seem to have no concern for your own health, so let me phrase it like this: You are my retainer. How do you presume to protect me if you're swaying on your feet?"

Laslow shifted.

"Laslow."

Laslow looked him in the eye.

"Go to bed. You look exhausted."

"Forgive me, but… I cannot."

Xander narrowed his eyes. "I will be perfectly safe. I can call Peri."

"No, I meant I cannot because…" Laslow hesitated. To let Xander in on something so intimate was daunting. The prince was a shining bastion of strength and elegance, and for Laslow to complain to him about his problems felt wrong. As if it would tarnish that perfection. Xander had better things to worry about than the insecurities of his retainer, but then Laslow looked into those eyes again, and felt them cut through him, like a knife, like a lighthouse on a choppy sea, direct and blinding, and Laslow couldn't hold back as he said, "I can't because I'm afraid."

"Of the nightmares? So they _are_ common."

Laslow nodded. "They've been worse recently and I don't know why. And they're so hard to wake up from. I know this makes me weak, but—"

"No. You're not. If you're afraid of not waking up, then I will stay with you. If you begin to move or call out, I will wake you."

Dread and warmth flooded Laslow's stomach in unison. There's no way he could let Xander do that. He opened his mouth to protest, but the look in Xander's eyes had him closing it again. Xander was being a little overbearing, but then again, he had a point. Laslow couldn't well go on like this forever. With a sigh, Laslow headed for the door.

-0-

That night, Laslow slept peacefully. Xander continued to stay every couple of nights, and the nightmares were minimal. Until the night when they weren't.

-0-

Xander sat in the soft chair by Laslow's bed, head down into a book about battle strategy. This was the fourth time he'd stayed for a while as Laslow slept. A candle flicked on the wall. Laslow snored softly, a calming rhythm. Xander felt his eyes closing, but suddenly jolted awake and to his feet as Laslow said, "Xander!" Laslow's body convulsed beneath the blankets. "No!" His eyes were shut tight. "Xander, no!"

Oh. Dreaming. Xander touched Laslow's shoulder. His eyes opened, and Xander gasped as Laslow blinked and launched himself forward, blankets shifting, and Laslow threw his arms around his neck. Bringing his face in close to Xander's neck, Laslow sobbed, "Xander, I thought you were dead. They killed you and…" There was a drop of wetness on his shoulder. Xander was stock still, the feeling of Laslow pressed up against him setting off every light in his brain and firing off every nerve in his body. He scooped Laslow up off the bed with one arm, and Laslow wound his legs around his waist, pressing closer, clutching on for dear life, as if Xander would disappear at any moment. His heart beat fast, vibrating through Xander's chest. With Xander supporting his weight with one arm and the other stroking through his hair, Laslow's breathing slowly returned to normal. By his ear, voice not quite stable, Laslow said, "Sorry. I'm being ridiculous. I shouldn't have—"

"It's fine. Relax. Don't worry."

Laslow breathed out. "I can hear your heartbeat. It's helping."

"I can hear yours, too," said Xander. "It'll be alright." Laslow was so light.

"I wish you could stay," said Laslow, who seemed to have lost some inhibitions in wake of the nightmare and their current position. "Just like this. There's no way I could have a nightmare like this."

"The bed isn't big enough. But I could take you back to mine."

Laslow went very still. The slightest of whispers, "Yes. Please, yes. I can't… Please don't go, don't stop, I can't do this alone anymore."

Xander had been expecting a denial, outright refusal. But this… How peculiar. He wondered how awful the nightmare had been to affect Laslow so.

"Very well. Hold on." Xander walked out into the hall, Laslow still latched onto him. There was little chance of meeting anyone in the short stretch of hall between their rooms, especially at this hour of the morning. In the increased light from the hallway candles, Xander said, "Laslow."

"Mmm?" said Laslow, face nestled into Xander's neck.

"You're wearing my shirt."

"What?" said Laslow sharply, pulling back a little to look down at himself. The white button-up shirt with the ruffled sleeves that he'd worn to bed was Xander's. It was soft and made a good night-shirt. "Oh." Laslow was going red. "It must have been mixed up with my laundry."

They reached Xander's bedroom, and Xander closed the door behind him. He walked to the bed and set Laslow on his feet. Laslow raised a tentative hand to the top button of his shirt. "Shall I remove it? I can go back and fetch another."

"Don't," said Xander quickly, "It matters not. You can keep it. Permanently."

Laslow looked like he was hiding a smile, looking up at Xander with sleepy eyes. "You sound very sure of that, Milord."

"Stop flirting, Laslow." How many times had he caught himself saying those words? "And call me Xander. Please."

"Alright."

Xander pulled back the blankets on his bed, revealing satin sheets beneath. He went onto the bed, leant on one elbow, and held out his other hand out to Laslow. "Come."

Laslow put his hand into Xander's, but then looked away, as if his shyness had finally kicked back in. "Are you sure?"

Xander tugged, and Laslow fell forwards and into his arms, squeaking. Laslow crashed down on his chest, the weight pushing Xander flat on his back. "You think too much," said Xander.

Laslow had fallen flush with Xander's body, and he pushed himself up on one elbow to hover his face above Xander's and look down into his eyes. "You're right," said Laslow, and kissed him.

A hand in his hair and a returning kiss had Laslow feeling warm all over, their bodies curving into each other. They pulled away.

"I think this counts as flirting," said Xander.

The corner of Laslow's mouth quirked up. "Oh? You want me to stop?"

"Absolutely not." Xander pulled him down for another kiss. Laslow curled his hand into the sheet.

They pulled away again. "We should sleep," said Xander, "You've hardly slept at all tonight."

Laslow frowned.

Xander ran a hand down his back. "I didn't say you had to leave. You can stay whenever you wish."

"Every night?"

Xander raised an eyebrow. "Of course. If you want to."

"You wouldn't mind?"

"I'd be delighted."

Smiling, Laslow shifted so they could both lie comfortably on their sides. Laslow tucked his face into Xander's chest and Xander wound an arm around him. Their legs tangled. They were pressed together tightly.

Everything was warm.

Everything was perfect.

-0-

Laslow was tucked tightly into Xander's arms, eyes drifting shut. "I love you," he whispered, but Xander didn't hear.

As Laslow fell asleep, he heard (so faint he must have dreamt it),

"I love you, too."

-0-

In the morning, the air smelled clean, and Xander told him it had rained. Laslow hadn't known, because he'd slept the whole night through.

-0-

A/N: Hello! This is my first work in the fandom. If you liked this, please feel free to comment! :)

Also, you can yell at me about Xanlow on my Tumblr inkbrush-writes


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